


kiss with a fist

by fraud



Category: DCU (Comics)
Genre: Gen, M/M, Sparring
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-25
Updated: 2013-08-25
Packaged: 2017-12-24 13:50:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,103
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/940712
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fraud/pseuds/fraud
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Everything Dick does has a flair to it, and Damian just wants to punch his cheerful mentor in the mouth.</p>
            </blockquote>





	kiss with a fist

Knuckles, taped and pulled taut into a fist, slice through the air and almost make contact with their intended target- key word being _almost_.

Almost doesn’t matter much in a life or death situation, and its this thought that brings Damian’s scowl out in full force. He follows through with the momentum of his punch, keeping a close eye on the acrobat who flips away from him with an easy grace. Sparring with Grayson is a particular kind of irritating that has yet to grow wearisome, but never fails to test Damian’s ability to reign in his temper.

(If he cared to, he might acknowledge that there is, likely, a strategy at work here- but Damian would much rather land a punch than waste time acknowledging trivial details.)

He lunges, looking to take Grayson by surprise mid-flip, but the older man springs off the mats with an audible exhale and Damian’s fist _just_ misses again. Damian tucks into a roll with an annoyed grunt, immediately rising into a crouch once he’s displaced his momentum.

Damian watches the other man recover from a perfectly executed back handspring- Grayson’s preferred method of displacement. Every muscle in his stomach and thighs has a chance to stretch taut under his skin, pronounced under the lightweight tights he prefers to fight in. He’s smiling when he finally rights himself, cheeks flushed and eyes sparkling.

Something about that particular combination clues Damian in to what’s coming next and he can’t cut it off fast enough.

“You can take the boy out of the circus, but you ca-“

“Grayson, I will punch you in the mouth!” Damian swears, lunging at his theatrically inclined mentor with full-bodied promise.

Its been a long time since Dick’s taken Damian’s threats seriously, which is why he raises his voice as he deflects Damian’s punch with some fancy footwork, deliberately finishing his would be catch-phrase. “You can’t take the circus out of the boy!”

Damian’s brain fuzzes over with the irritation he’s only ever known from his light-footed mentor. He considers himself learned in the full spectrum of irritants; the hesitation his father still leans on like a crutch in any given conversation between them, Todd’s continued access to information and inevitable interference in cases, Drake’s existence…

But Grayson’s particular brand of irritating is, and has always been, singular and all consuming. Damian figures it’s in his blood to seek out the spotlight, even in matters where he would be better served _not_ excelling.

“ _When_ are you going to stop saying that?” Damian demands, accentuating his question with a sweep meant to knock Grayson’s legs from under him.

From anyone else, it would be an unrealistically hopeful move; everyone knows Grayson is only ever humoring gravity.

“When you can finally _make_ me.” Dick challenges, jumping to easily avoid Damian’s sweep.

And that’s the thing about Dick Grayson; he’s so flexible, he hardly ever notices when he puts his foot in his own mouth.

Damian smirks, turning Grayson’s airborne moment to his advantage and pivoting into a roundhouse kick aimed at his mentor’s solar plexus. The kick lands but Dick’s been doing this for a long time- both sparring with Damian, and avoiding getting the shit kicked out of him- so Damian’s kick makes contact, but only with the protective barrier of Dick’s crossed arms.

Still, it’s validating to land a blow, to force the older man to land in a steadying position, with both feet firmly on the mats.

Well, it _was_ validating, until Grayson smiles and Damian has just enough time to experience that familiar, skin-tingling sensation of adrenaline coursing through his blood, lighting up every nerve and sense with the signal to _get away_ —

And then he’s airborne, betrayed by the leg he’d used to kick at Grayson with and Grayson’s insatiable urge to see bodies in midair. Bending backwards, Damian reaches for the floor, planting his palms on the mats and twisting his leg from Grayson’s grasp. Swinging his legs around like the blades of a helicopter, Damian grants himself some space from Grayson’s sudden offensive.

(He likes it; the thrill of being chased, the familiar threat of an attack.)

Damian is upright but not entirely oriented when Dick is suddenly in his space, aiming open palmed blows at his right upper quadrant, left lower quadrant, right temporal region, and left upper quadrant in rapid succession. Grayson’s fighting style favors speed, not strength, and Damian’s reflexes are unparalleled. He blocks each attempt as if simply going through the motions, picking up on the placement of the next blow by careful observation of Grayson’s body.

It works well for one on one.

It also works well when there’s no true intention to maim behind the blows.

It _isn’t_ a very good simulation of an actual fight.

Growing tired of blocking Grayson’s teasing hits, Damian wraps his hand around the next wrist to venture into his space, intending to twist it into a punishing joint lock.

(Grayson’s shown an admirable tolerance for pain, and Damian would release… so long as he tapped out.)

Unfortunately, Dick’s been on the receiving end of this particular joint lock before, and he turns with Damian, shadowing him, not allowing his Robin the necessary leverage to twist his bones to his advantage. Instead, he pulls Damian into his space with a jerk, Damian’s back colliding with Dick’s chest, his arm curling around the teen as if in a single armed hug and—

And this is a tactic, Damian _knows_ , but Grayson is unpredictable and the proximity- not to mention the speed with which he was spun- is momentarily disorienting.

A moment is all Dick needs.

Peeling Damian’s thumb from around his wrist, and thusly breaking the hold, Dick flings the boy outwards, spinning him away from his hold with a flourish that would be infinitely embarrassing if Damian were less focused on staying upright. He comes to a stop a meter from Grayson’s outstretched fingertips, his thumb parallel with his wrist and his arm, perfectly straight, as if for the benefit of an audience.

In his mind’s eye, Damian can see the bright stripe of blue painted up his arm; he can see how it would draw the eyes from the tips of Grayson’s fingers up the length of his arm to his—

Damian scowls, distrusting the smile Grayson’s sporting.

Bringing his fists up as he widens his stance, Damian demands, “Are we _fighting_ or are we dancing?”

Dick quirks an eyebrow, which turns his smile somewhat mischievous, and asks, “Who says we can’t do both?”

“Grayson…” Damian warns.

“Damian…” Dick replies, sounding considerably more amused at the idea.

**Author's Note:**

> from the pile of things i may or may not continue


End file.
